


Free

by Charolastra



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Animals, Horses, Héctor loved animals, Poor Family, Spanish, Young Hector, child Héctor, trust building, wild horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 09:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20905073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charolastra/pseuds/Charolastra
Summary: A young Héctor Rivera spends hours in the clearing far behind his little town of Santa Cecilia with a new, curious friend.





	Free

Horses had always fascinated Héctor.

From the stories his mother had read to him of cowboys, dashing outlaws, and tamers, he gleaned so: To have a horse was to have the world. Surely, nothing could be better than the view on horseback, the freedom. But for a boy with little money, nothing could be harder.

From the older boys across the creek by his home--the rambunctious, risky type-- he heard of ways to tame wild horses, with sweet offerings and consenting touches. How perfect it was that only days earlier, he spotted one.

Héctor knew very little about horses. From first sight, he could tell his horse was still young; She stood tall and elegant, but her eyes were large, doey, and her legs still sinewy. His heart raced in his chest at the very sight.

Héctor believed her to be quite gorgeous. Her body was a deep brown, reminding him of a brilliant orange sunrise reflected in muddy waters. Night-black mane and tail unkempt, and free just the same. At once, she also strode in a funny way, like some king with too much pomp in his step. Gleaming with endearment, he made his decision.

This was the horse he would tame.

* * *

Their first meeting did not go well.

Juanita was skittish. Of this Héctor did not expect. He tried fruitlessly to approach; She consistently trotted away, snorting and flicking her tail to and fro. He got close once, approaching from her side, but again she turned away and nearly hit him with the strands of her tail. Grimacing, the Mexican boy knew he needed to change tactic. Wild horses were just that, he learned: wild.

Yet Héctor showed no signs of dejection.  
It took a week of patient standing around, watching, to gain the shred of trust needed to touch. 

To come close enough to maybe touch.

"Easy," Héctor murmured now as he stood just feet away from the curious creature. With exaggerated care his hands reached to her black nose; Juanita snorted, flicking her tail. Soft hoofbeats threw up dirt behind her. The boy continued cooing while he ran his dirty fingers through Juanita's mane, unravelling tangles, disposing of burrs caught in it. Juanita whiffled from time to time in what Héctor hoped was enjoyment.

For a long moment after, the young boy just stared at her. The horse met his gaze. Something like a connection passed in their shared silence.

"_Soy_ Héctor," he said. 

The horse snorted.

"I think I will call you Juanita. How does that sound?"

Juanita blinked her round eyes and swung her head.

"Good enough," Héctor agreed, smiling his crooked smile. He flattened his palm against her nose and patted her. This time, much to his joy, she did not flinch or pull away. "We're gonna be friends, okay?"

Héctor spent impatient weeks testing her back, her trust; He lay his hands over the dip in her back frequently to provoke a response. In the beginning she pulled away, danced nimbly out of his reach; Four weeks in, she seemed used to it. After much convincing the older boys showed him how to make a lead out of rope. Juanita looked prideful when he slipped clunky old leather contraption around her ears and nose.

From then it was walking and crunching on apples together, or any other extra vegetables he could scavenge after dinner at home. Juanita wasn't very discerning, luckily; But it also meant she tried often to chew on his hair. Each time he giggled without restraint and thanked her for the 'haircut,' even if it was left matted with saliva. Their mutual fondness meant the world to the boy.

In the last month, Héctor shot up in height with a sudden growth spurt. He needed no support to climb up on Juanita. This plan he had been brewing for months was now closer than ever--today he would try to mount.

In the clearing, little but a circle of earth stippled with fresh grass, Juanita stood grazing. The crunch of dirt beneath his shoes alerted the horse to Héctor's arrival and she straightened up, ears turned forward.

Héctor smiled at the sight, increased his pace to meet her. In his hands bounced potatoes and a fabric pouch filled with uncooked rice. Juanita whiffled a greeting.

"_Buenas tardes_!" Héctor chirped. The tanned boy lifted the potatoes to Juanita's nose, which she sniffed happily at. Héctor turned away when she tried to mouth one.

"Wait," he said in a stern voice. Slowly he set down the potatoes--three in all, dirty--and unfolded the pouch of rice. Juanita set to wolfing them down like she hadn't eaten in weeks.

"I don't know if horses like rice," Héctor mused over Juanita's lunch. He crossed his legs and sat back. "But it was all I could get this week. At least the potatoes are all right."

Juanita crunched appreciately on the meal, of course without response. Héctor couldn't help but smile. Docile animals had always been objects of adoration for him. How impressive their tall legs and round eyes were, their speed and their strength and long tails.

The thought sent a zing down his spine. Soon he would be atop the beautiful beast, feeling connected with her, feeling free. Tentatively Héctor stroked her nose, felt the multitude tiny hairs along it. Juanita didn't mind.

Héctor rose to his feet with more caution than required. As Juanita began nosing the rice he walked to her side. Her chest expanded and deflated in slow rhythm, sinuous tail flicking behind. Héctor took a breath that nearly rattled his thin frame--preparing.

At last the boy braced his palms on the valley in Juanita's back, steeled himself, and lauilnched upward.

Juanita, of course, flinched at the flurry of movement. The weight on her back was slight and growing slighter yet; Héctor landed on his stomach, draped across her like a blanket, but pulled and pushed his way to a sitting position. The boy's heart beat like a drum.

After what seemed an eternity, Juanita angled her head and peered at Héctor with her sable eyes. Crooked smile bared to the world, Héctor had to stifle his excited giggles. His digits he laced carefully through her mane while his legs pressed gingerly on her sides.

Juanita did not react, at first. Minds of their own, her ears turned this way and that, hearing Héctor's little voice on both sides of her. She huffed and snorted, pawed at the ground, shook her head; If that's what he wanted, so be it!

Héctor yelped as Juanita took off on a trot. He held fast to her mane, though, and moved himself in with her rhythm. In minutes he adapted to leaning forward, just over her head, holding on with his legs round her barrel-shaped body. Little Héctor made no attempt to steer or commandere his horse; Just as she would've wanted it. Juanita chose her own path to beat with her hooves, chose her own speeds. Anyone above would have to get used to it.

He _loved_ it.

Whooping with delight, Héctor threw his head back. They were right! From his nose to his toes he recognized a sort of liberation; In control, yet totally at the mercy of the creature he had bonded with.

It felt okay. To be without restraint and with sounds like hooves pounding the rhythm to a wild, distant wind chime melody. He felt it in his chest more than he heard it.

Juanita's hooves churned up dirt and grass behind her. The breeze tugged at her tail and mane, just as it did Héctor's raven-black hair.  
His horse. Or rather, her own horse. Héctor concerned himself with different gear he would need for her, if she let him, and treats and more leads and more time for bonding.

She was a big responsibility, his mom would surely say. Juanita fixed him with a backwards glance.

Free.


End file.
